


Chasing the Sun

by XiuChen4Ever



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Brief Mentions of Cannibalism, Korean Mythology, M/M, Non-Graphic Subsistence Hunting of Mutated Animals, Science Fiction, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 12:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21816112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiuChen4Ever/pseuds/XiuChen4Ever
Summary: It's supposed to be every man for himself out in the wildlands, but a mutant canine leads Jongdae to an injured wanderer instead of attacking either of them.  How is he supposed to just walk away from that?
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun & Kim Jongdae | Chen & Kim Minseok | Xiumin, Byun Baekhyun & Kim Minseok | Xiumin, Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Comments: 35
Kudos: 165
Collections: Song For You : The Second Album





	Chasing the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unnieunnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnieunnie/gifts).

> This fic had been sitting half-done in my WIPs since Tempo came out--Oasis is one of my top ten EXO songs for sure. Thanks to this fest for prodding me to finish it up and share it!

#  ﮮ ᐧረ 🌣

Jongdae lifts a rag-wrapped hand to wipe away the sweat dripping from his brow despite the oversized hood shielding his face from the brutal sun. Foraging for food and scavenging for useable objects is taxing but necessary if he wants to survive, so he continues his trek along the weed-disrupted cobblestone that cuts through the wildlands. An old-timer once tried to tell him it used to be a smooth strip of black material that acted as an artery for thousands of the cars that Jongdae has only ever known as unmoving sources of scrap metal and occasional electronics.

The old-timer also told him that Goryeo used to be a veritable paradise, a thriving peninsula rich in minerals and arable land, lush forests kept green by seasonal monsoons. It was populated by people who took joy in working together to build a bright, shining society, a forward-looking nation that anticipated the glowing future they could create.

But that was before The War.

Now it’s a land gone feral, scarred and unforgiving. And instead of the neo-Confucian values that fostered a collective effort toward everyone's well-being, it's every man (or woman or mutant or monster) for themselves.

The Francos had a term for it:  _ sauve qui peut, _ "save yourself if you can," and that harsh attitude is held by anyone who wants to survive for long. Sure, there's less banditry and raiding here than in places like Stra’ya, which, according to the raftloads of miserable wretches washing up on the coast, has become a bloody Thunderdome where kill-or-be-killed is the only law. There are still enough shreds of collectivism left among most of the survivors here not to actively wish their neighbors harm, but altruism died along with civilization, and neither looks likely to be revived any time soon.

Sure, there are compounds. Enclaves, even. Jongdae was raised in one. But the thing about getting close to people, about believing that someone cares as much about you as they do about themselves, is that betrayal is far worse than solitude. 

Outside of the walled sanctuaries, most people keep to themselves, either squatting somewhere or perpetually wandering. Lovers occasionally form a partnership for a time, especially if one is pregnant. No one lives forever, but a surviving child is a form of immortality many folks find worth the effort. And women sometimes band up together in twos or threes—the increased safety of another pair of eyes is sometimes worth the risk of being sold out or abandoned. But it’s rare indeed for an able-bodied young man like Jongdae to take up with anyone else. 

It’s much easier to look out for one, provide for one, to wear, hoard, or carry everything a single fit person could need. And it’s healthier for the mind when one’s safety and satiety are directly related to one’s own efforts. If you fuck up, you die, and you have only yourself to blame. 

It’s foolish to worry about anyone other than oneself. Which is why when Jongdae hears a whimper coming from inside the burned-out shell of an ancient sedan, he ignores it. Even more so when a vaguely canine head pops up to poke its shiny pink snout out through the half-melted window frame and sniff in Jongdae's direction. 

He immediately recognizes the creature as a bulgae, a fire-dog, the local name for the mutated canines that have flourished in the aftermath of The War. Named after the sun-eating hounds of ancient mythology, the modern-day bulgae look more like they've been on fire instead of that they've been sent to bite the burning orb and bring it to their darkness-hating master. They're ugly and vicious and often hunt in packs, making them incredibly dangerous.

Once touted as man's best friend, the descendants of domestic dogs are now man's biggest competitor, needing the same resources of food and water and shelter to survive. Other mutants and monsters can drink impure water, digest rotten food, tolerate prolonged sun exposure, or endure the brutally-cold nights, but dogs were the first domesticated animal  _ because _ their needs aligned so closely with humankind. 

Now it's coming back to (literally) bite them.

Jongdae readies his weapon, a club that was once an elegantly-carved table leg before one of Jongdae's ancestors broke it off and wrapped the thicker end in barbed wire and the narrow end in grip-enhancing tape. He's not the biggest guy wandering the wildlands, so the club is backed up by a solar-powered taser Jongdae cobbled together himself, boasting a home-made capacitor capable of holding enough charge to take out even a 400-kg horangi, the striped apex predators with far too much cunning for Jongdae’s taste. 

Unluckily for them, Jongdae’s cunning, too. But the taser takes a long time to recharge, so he’s reluctant to use it unless truly necessary. Therefore, he's content to keep a wary eye on the whining bulgae, willing to let it defend the shelter it's claimed as long as it doesn't come after him. 

The bulgae makes more noise as he moves away, a sort of undulating bark that makes Jongdae look around for a more intimidating predator than himself. He doesn't see anything, nor does the bulgae seem to be attempting to scare anything off. On the contrary, the further away Jongdae gets, the more agitated the bulgae becomes.

Just as Jongdae is about to pass over the next rise, leaving the howling creature behind, it leaps out of the vehicle and comes after him with a long, loping stride. Jongdae turns to face his attacker, raising his club and yelling, but the creature keeps coming, and the closer it gets, the odder it looks.

Like most bulgae, this one is a deep-chested, wasp-waisted mass of muscle, probably weighing close to what Jongdae does, armed with a long, streamlined snout full of bacteria-laden fangs. But unlike most bulgae, it's wearing a wide strip of brown leather buckled around its slender neck, and its leathery hide is smooth instead of scabbed, spangled with patches of surprisingly-clean auburn fur that doesn't seem to be crawling with the usual parasites. 

And instead of pouncing on Jongdae and attempting to rip out his throat, it slows to a walk, then drops down and crawls forward on its belly, whimpering as it looks up at him with clear amber eyes.

For the first time in his twenty-seven years, Jongdae is tempted to view one of the vicious, resource-stealing creatures as  _ cute. _

"Shoo," he says, gesturing at it with his club. It's not attacking him, and it's acting weird, making him wary of killing it. It could have some disease that would make spattering himself in its blood the harbinger of his own doom.

The bulgae hops away at Jongdae's aggressive movement, causing a dull metal disc dangling from the strap around its neck to catch Jongdae's eye. Then it once again hunkers to the ground and crawls slowly towards him, whimpering softly.

Jongdae's mouth falls open. The damn thing is wearing a  _ collar, _ like domestic pets in ancient times. Does that mean it's tame? That it belongs to someone? Why the fuck is it following him? Does it think Jongdae has food?

The bulgae whines again, rolling onto its back and pawing the air, like it's trying to get his attention. Jongdae snorts, unable to believe what he's seeing, especially since the new position reveals the silver disc once again. Since it's now only about a meter away, Jongdae can make out that someone has scratched the word "Bacon" onto it, meaning this anomalous bulgae evidently has a name.

"Bacon?" Jongdae says, and the creature immediately rolls back onto its feet, wagging its whip-like tail. "Is that what you're called?" 

He smiles as the creature lowers its front half, keeping its rump and wagging tail up in the air like a happy flag. It might be clean-ish and relatively healthy compared to the rest of its kind, but it still has a streaky, mottled look to it, reddish fur and paler pink skin, and the comparison to the salt-preserved marbled meat is apt. Jongdae is given to understand that originally, bacon was only made from an animal called a pork, but now the term encompasses any fat-streaked strip of meat that's salted and fried in its own grease, and he's definitely had bacon made from bulgae before. 

"So are you actually a pet, or are you somebody's future food?" he asks the beast, smiling again when it barks in response. 

It's still wagging its tail but now it's bouncing around, shifting towards Jongdae before skipping a step or two back down the hill, twisting to glance over its shoulder at him before taking another step, only to twirl around and come back toward his side. The whimpering has become high-pitched yips, and Jongdae has the strangest impression that it wants him to follow it back to the car. He takes a step down the hill, and the bulgae's antics increase. It runs all the way to the skeleton of the ancient vehicle, puts its front paws up to peek in through the window, then bounds back over to dance a barking circle around Jongdae.

Amusement and curiosity winning out, Jongdae cautiously approaches the rusted shell.

#  ﮮ ᐧረ 🌣

In ancient legend, bulgae were said to be the causes of solar and lunar eclipses, jaws obscuring the sun or moon as they tried to fetch the glowing light home to the frozen lord of the underworld. This real-world equivalent hasn't tried to bite him, but it seems to have otherwise mistaken Jongdae for a celestial body, fetching him back toward a shivering wreck of a man that must be the creature's companion. The bulgae had even licked the unconscious man's face, then raised those expressive amber eyes to Jongdae as he peered through the car window, as if to say,  _ see, he won't wake up. _

And Jongdae knew it was a bad idea, because his resources are running low as it is. Yet he'd still hauled the stranger out of the car and back to his shelter, the buried shell of an elongated vehicle he thinks was called a  _ bus, _ accessed through a hatch in the curved roof. He'd managed to lower the guy through the opening, only having to drop him a little bit, and the bulgae had whined and danced around and barked at him through the hatch before eventually slither-jumping down after them, allowing Jongdae to secure his shelter against the creatures of the coming night.

Now the bulgae is flopped over the body of the stranger tucked into Jongdae's bed, a pile of rudimentary quilts on top of an actual mattress that Jongdae had miraculously found still wrapped in plastic in the basement of a factory. He'd almost died getting it home, and had pulled several muscles in the process of half-rolling it and shoving it through the hatch, but the comfort of sleeping on a properly-padded surface made it all worth it.

It's his most prized possession, and he's letting a stranger and a mutant hound sleep on it. Jongdae must have been out in the sun for too long.

Or it could just be that the stranger is breathtakingly beautiful, even flushed with fever. 

Jongdae had tried not to feel the man up too much as he carried him home, but the stranger is heavy for his size, implying a sturdy build belied by his ethereal face. He has broad cheekbones, strong, angled brows, and a full lower lip that Jongdae definitely did not fantasize briefly about nibbling on. But he is rather red-faced and sweaty and his long black hair is stuck to his smooth forehead, and Jongdae might be isolated and lonely and self-prioritizing, but he's not a creep. Therefore, he tries to be entirely clinical as he investigates his impromptu guest for the source of his illness.

He doesn't even have to undress the man (thank fuck) to discover a nasty bite on his muscular calf, and given what probably caused it, the man is lucky to still be alive. Mawang, the devil-dragons, aren't known for giving up their prey easily, and even if something manages to escape the 200-kilogram terrestrial lizards, their bite is incredibly toxic. The man had obviously done his best to clean and bandage the injury, but it's nearly impossible to prevent infection in deep puncture wounds like this. An abscess almost always forms, unless the victim is lucky enough to have access to some type of anti-microbial treatment.

Not many people do anymore, most of the pharmaceuticals being used up a generation or two ago, leaving Jongdae's cohort to make do with herbs for the most part. And Jongdae does have herbs, thanks to a wandering herbalist who had wintered with him a few years ago, helping him to set up his own medical garden in return for sheltering the man during the long cold months. Yixing had been pleasant company in addition to a knowledgeable, patient herbal mentor, and Jongdae had been more than a little sad to see the snow melt away that spring.

The downside of  _ sauve qui peut  _ is that it gets really fucking lonely.

That, more than anything, is probably why Jongdae has a wounded stranger lying unconscious in his bed. An incredibly lucky stranger, because not only does Jongdae have herbs, he has his gadgets, and one of them is perfect for treating gross contaminated wounds like this one.

He's glad the man is unconscious for the first part of the treatment, which involves lancing the hot, swollen abscess and draining out all the putrid infection he can, slicing away dead or dying tissue and vigorously scrubbing what remains with a boiled rag until fresh blood wells angrily to the surface of the wound. Then Jongdae pops the access hatch up in ventilation mode, allowing a fresh influx of air without allowing the portal to be completely opened.

He'd learned the hard way that his life-saving toy tends to suck the oxygen out of the air, and one unconscious guy in his burrow is more than enough.

Safety ensured, Jongdae pulls the bulky device from the pile of storage near what was the driver's end of the bus, setting it up and wrapping the attached plastic sheeting around the man's lower leg, securing it above and below the wound with lengths of string tied firmly around the limb. Then he hooks the gadget up to one of the home-made batteries that store the energy collected by his array of salvaged solar panels, smiling as it whines to life to create tiny tongues of dancing indigo energy beneath the clear plastic shield.

The bulgae watches all this with those limpid amber eyes, above which little tufts of fur twirl upward to give it a concerned look. It's odd to be stared at, especially by a creature whose kind tends to try to eat him, so Jongdae dissolves his own tension by informing the creature how his machine works.

"That bluish stuff is called  _ plasma, _ " Jongdae explains to Bacon. "It's creating a gas called  _ ozone, _ which is like, super oxygen. It's gonna kill the anaerobic bacteria in his wound, and oxidize the tissue to help it heal more quickly. It's not great to breathe a lot of it, though, which is why we're trapping it beneath the plastic."

Bacon's twitching eyebrows seem to accept this explanation, and the bulgae lays its head on the stranger's chest, settling against its master with a deep sigh.

Satisfied the creature seems unlikely to mess with the machine, Jongdae pulls down the periscope telescoped into the vehicle's slightly arched roof and checks his burrow's surroundings. He pivots through a full circle twice, because he prefers to  _ be _ the predator lying in wait for a hapless creature to pop out of its hole, not  _ feed _ that predator.

But the coast is clear, so Jongdae hauls himself up out of the hatch and jogs the half-kilometer to his little makeshift greenhouse. It's cozy to force-start seeds in the buried bus in the winter, letting the solar-powered grow lamps heat his little burrow, but in the warmer months, it turns his home into a sauna. So he'd dared to build an exposed structure, situating it close to the road and securing it only against non-human predators. In an attempt to prevent his efforts from being completely destroyed by the ignorant or malicious, he'd clearly labeled the glass-topped building in three languages, using his own blood to paint a dull red plus sign in several prominent places for the illiterate.

He'd used sticks of charcoal to further label each tray of plants with the names Yixing taught him in his neatest print, and covered the interior walls with instructions on how to use his precious herbs, attempting to illustrate their uses visually as well. He's not the best artist, but he'd done his best, hoping that if people knew the value of the shed's contents, they'd be less likely to toss everything outside and use the building merely for shelter.

He'd also written a request that, if people could, that they leave something in return for any herbs they take, understanding the need not to be indebted to anyone in this volatile world, even an absent stranger. And in the three years he'd carefully tended his little patch of medical miracles, he'd found everything from sacks of produce to dried fish, most people choosing to leave food in exchange for medicine, trading life for life. But he also occasionally finds bits of technology, like a handful of LEDs or a roll of solder, and once he had found a pair of finely-made gloves someone had painstakingly stitched together from multiple ratmunk skins, a double stripe running the length of each finger.

The building's walls had also become graffiti'd with thank-yous, including one beautiful charcoal sketch of a woman cradling a newborn, the accompanying Han characters mostly unfamiliar to Jongdae except for the character for  _ blood _ and the one representing yarrow, the herb used to staunch a bleeding wound. It's enough to choke him up a little, that Yixing's legacy, tended carefully by an amateur, had evidently managed to save a mother's life, thereby saving the child as well. And since women who almost bleed to death during childbirth are rarely in the habit of sketching themselves shortly thereafter, he can only assume a third party was the one to leave him a message of gratitude, making three lives touched by one little plant.

Sometimes,  _ sauve qui peut _ has nothing on  _ love thy neighbor. _

Smiling as he always does at the precious portrait nestled among other scrawled messages, Jongdae collects what he needs to help with pain and fever and support the immune system, suppressing the urge to sing to himself as he works. It's not safe to obstruct his own hearing out here, so he squelches the self-serenade until he's secured the shed, scampered back to his burrow, and, like the woodrats he often hunts, stretches tall to survey his surroundings before popping back down into his burrow with his clippings.

Only to drop his treasures and reach for the sky when he sees that his patient has pulled a gun on him.

#  ﮮ ᐧረ 🌣

"Y-you're awake," Jongdae stammers, unsure whether to smile or frown at current developments. The gun is one of the popular pipe pistols that are relatively easy to make, the type generally loaded with round bullets made by dripping molten metal into a bucket of water and fired with the aid of one of several recipes for explosive powder which, while nowhere near as strong as the gunpowder in the weapons used during The War, is still more than enough to punch a lethal hole in Jongdae from where the stranger rests on his elbow three meters away.

"Who are you?" the man interrogates, still drenched in fever sweat yet holding the small pistol steady. Awake, he's even more startlingly attractive, even when huge feline eyes are glaring accusingly at Jongdae.

But the stranger's bravado is completely ruined when Bacon bounces over him to twirl excitedly in front of Jongdae, making little high-pitched barks and wagging its tail wildly.

"You traitor," the injured man spits. "Get back over here and growl at him or something."

Bacon looks back at his master before returning to its dance of excitement at Jongdae's arrival. It takes a sniff of the dropped herbs before sneezing dramatically with a wild shake of its head, drawing a nervous laugh from Jongdae and a resigned sigh from the man in the bed.

"Ugh, some guard dog you are," he says, but he disarms his pistol and flops back against Jongdae's pillow. "I knew I should have just eaten you."

"Is that why you named it after food?" Jongdae asks, figuring it's safe to stoop and save his herbs from the curious creature.

"That's all he's fucking good for," the injured man says, but his downturned lips are being tugged into a smile by the bulgae's continuing antics.

"Well, he probably saved your life, so perhaps he's worked himself off the menu," Jongdae smiles, slowly moving to plug the hotplate into the solar line, fill the kettle with potable water, and set it on the burner. "I'm Jongdae, by the way."

"Minseok," the stranger admits. "Can I assume you're not slowly pickling me from the leg up?"

"Oh!" Jongdae darts over to the ozone device, turning it off. "Thanks for not disrupting it. It should really help you heal faster. Uh, hold your breath for a minute." 

Minseok lifts a brow, but inhales obediently, and Jongdae frees the man's leg from the plastic, waving his hands around to disperse the irritating gas as Bacon sneezes again. 

"Sorry, pal," Jongdae apologizes. "You'll be fine in a moment."

Bacon sneezes indignantly once more before Jongdae succeeds in dissipating the ozone to an unnoticeable level. "Should be okay now," he advises Minseok with a grin.

Minseok gives him a long look as he exhales. "So, you're just lightly poisoning me, then?"

Jongdae blushes. "Uh, sort of. I mean, just the germs in your wound. Mawang have a shit-ton of anaerobic bacteria in their mouths, and if we expose that to a bunch of enhanced oxygen molecules, that'll both inhibit the microbial growth while eliminating free radicals—"

Minseok's elegant eyebrows have slowly crawled toward each other and are now attempting to kiss across the bridge of his nose as he stares at Jongdae blankly.

"Uh, sorry, I don't talk to people often and I forget that science is almost its own language. So, yeah. I'm lightly poisoning you, but only so you'll heal faster."

"Well, I have no way to verify that, but I'm still alive so far, so I guess I won't shoot you just yet."

Jongdae smiles, holding up his handful of herbs. "Does that mean you'll drink an infusion if I make one for you?"

Minseok eyes him. "I guess if you dragged my ass all the way here alive without searching me well enough to take my weapons, you're either stupid or benign. And since you speak fluent science and, more importantly, you have electricity in this joint and aren't on fire, you don't seem to be stupid."

He closes his eyes, swiping his sleeve over his sweating brow and then pressing two fingers against his temple. "And since I'm currently roasting out of my skull and can't really walk much less fend for myself at the moment, shooting you seems unwise unless I plan to feed myself with your flesh. And while I won't lie and say I've never eaten my own kind out of desperation, I will say I've never killed anyone for the purpose. Plus Bacon seems to like you, and since he's my only friend I'd rather not piss him off."

Bacon wags his tail at the mention of his name, making both men smile at the bulgae. Minseok's still smiling as he raises his big brown eyes back to Jongdae's face.

"So, yeah, I guess I'll drink your probably-gross tea. After all this sweating, I could use the rehydration, if nothing else."

"It's an infusion," Jongdae insists, preparing the herbal drink just like Yixing taught him. "A Han herbalist lived with me for a few months—I'm not just feeding you random leaves."

"Well, random leaves are what you get from a lot of so-called herbalists, so you'll have to forgive a man for being a skeptic."

"You can be a skeptic," Jongdae assures him, getting out his best tin mug, one with a bamboo handle so it's not too hot to hold even when filled with steaming liquid. "It's gonna work whether you believe in it or not. Just like the ozone machine."

"Ah, so you're lightly poisoning me on the inside as well?"

Jongdae rolls his eyes, but he hands Minseok the infusion with a smile. "Yeah. Just lightly, though. So you'll heal faster."

Since he'd heated water anyway, Jongdae had made himself a cup of herbal tea, just some camomile and peppermint, mostly so he'd have something to do with his hands while the stranger grimaces his way through his infusion. They sip in relative silence for a moment, interrupted by their alternating slurps and the rhythmic thumping of Bacon's tail against the mattress where he'd curled up against Minseok again.

Minseok idly strokes the bulgae's head with the hand not holding the mug to his lips, and Jongdae has to look away so as not to imagine his own head beneath the man's wandering fingers.

Yixing had only spent a few short months with Jongdae and it was a long time ago, but the dimpled man had taught Jongdae more than just herbalism. It's difficult not to want to practice those skills with someone again, but Minseok isn't healthy, and at the moment, he's kind of at Jongdae's mercy, despite the gun. Jongdae's not going to take advantage of that, no matter how attractive the man is, so he blurts a question out to distract himself with more conversation.

"Is he soft?" he asks, drawing Minseok's gaze from the bulgae to himself and then internally cursing when he's subjected to those mesmerizing cat-like eyes.

"Bacon?" Minseok clarifies. "I guess, when he's clean enough, that is. It'd be nicer if he had more fur, because his bare spots are just like warm rubber or something—not like human skin at all. But you got him down in here with us—didn't you touch him?"

Jongdae shakes his head, a little ashamed of his wariness of what is now clearly a harmless pet. "I was just really happy he wasn't biting me, I wasn't going to push my luck and try to grab him. He pitched a fit when I lowered you in here without him, but he eventually jumped down to join us."

Minseok raises his brow in surprise. "Wow, you like me that much, Bake?" The bulgae's tail thumps harder, and Minseok's voice goes gooey. "Well, that makes you a moron, because I certainly don't like  _ you. _ "

Jongdae laughs. "I dunno, he seemed pretty smart when he managed to get my attention without making me feel threatened enough to kill him. And then he wouldn't leave me alone until I went and fetched you out of that old sedan."

The way Minseok tilts his head in surprise is cute enough to kill a man. "I was in a car?"

"Yep, sprawled out like a dead man, but he kept licking your face and whining at me until I hauled you out of there."

Minseok glares at the bulgae, wiping his cheek with his sleeve in a futile effort to clean long-dried spit off his face. "Ew, Bakey—you know I hate it when you do that."

Happy to hear his name, the creature just thumps his tail against the bedding more enthusiastically.

"Well, I guess I should thank both of you, then—I remember getting ambushed by that fucking cessmouth lizard, but then Bake distracted it enough and I was quick enough to get away. I actually thought Bake was a goner, but he showed up again that night when I was scrubbing my leg with water I'd boiled. I knew it wouldn't be enough, but I dumped some moonshine in the wound and wrapped it up and hoped to fuck I'd wake up in the morning. But I wasn't anywhere near the road, or at least I didn't think so. So I have no idea how long I wandered or why I decided a car was a good place to die."

"Well, you didn't die in a car, and you're not gonna die in my bus either, if I can help it. But you should probably sleep some more—your body heals the fastest that way."

"I do still feel like death," Minseok admits, handing the empty mug back to Jongdae and settling back down on the mattress. "Though not quite as much as I did before your light herbal poison, so, thanks for that, I guess."

"Don't worry about it," Jongdae dismisses, rinsing both mugs with the last of the heated water, then unplugging all of the electronics, leaving the bus illuminated only by the phosphorescent Han characters Yixing had painted on the ceiling just before he'd left.

They're upside-down from Jongdae's angle, being intended to be viewed from the bed whereas Jongdae is curled into the round high-backed chair he'd framed with steamed greenwood, weaving bamboo strips to cover the back and seat and armrests. But Jongdae still smiles up at them as he draws up his knees and tries to make himself comfortable, the elegant characters reminding him once again that  _ hope _ and  _ diligence _ equal  _ life. _

#  ﮮ ᐧረ 🌣

In the morning, Jongdae remembers why altruism is dead.

It's dead because idiots who sleep in wicker chairs without pillows or blankets wake up feeling like twisted wood themselves, and it's all Jongdae can do not to whine as he straightens his neck.

But someone else is whining, and Jongdae un-kinks himself more quickly when he realizes that Bacon is standing in front of him, turning in tight little circles as he whimpers.

"Oh, shit," he whispers, not wanting to wake Minseok. "I mean,  _ don't _ shit. Uh, we gotta get you back outside, don't we, buddy? Just hold on, I'll think of something."

That something turns out to be Jongdae's wood-hauling harness and some carefully-stacked storage crates, enabling the bulgae to climb close enough to the hatch for Jongdae to haul him out with the nylon straps fastened around his torso.

Once liberated, the dog does one happy little wiggle before darting off to water and fertilize the local flora. Jongdae takes care of his own morning business as well, wondering if Minseok would tolerate being hauled outside or if he'd have to use what Jongdae glibly refers to as the  _ winter bucket, _ so named because he resorts to it only when it's too cold to expose himself outside without serious consequences.

He shrugs as he harvests some berries to add to the dried feral rice he's planning to boil up for their breakfast, fetching fresh water from the nearby stream on his way back to his burrow. He's the one that chose to live in what amounts to a fancy hole in the ground, and he chose to take Minseok in. He can deal with the consequences of his choices, no matter how awkward or unpleasant.

Bacon has already re-entered the bus by the time Jongdae gets back, evidently quite willing to hop down onto his makeshift wooden staircase to be with his master. Jongdae has to suppress a coo when he sees the beast's head and neck draped over the sleeping human's chest, Minseok's arm curving up around the bulgae's body, fingers resting against a patch of auburn fur.

Tearing his eyes from the adorable sight because it feels somehow too intimate to see his guest, his patient, sweet and soft and vulnerable like that, Jongdae busies himself heating water over the hotplate, washing the berries, setting out bowls and mugs, and filling a pair of diffusers—one with black tea for himself, and one with more "lightly poisonous" herbs for Minseok.

He also sets the winter bucket near the bed, just in case. When he does, he realizes that the bulgae has also brought breakfast back for his master, having tucked a dead hoppit up under Minseok's chin as if the human will wake up and dig right in.

"Good boy," Jongdae praises, because the protein in fresh meat is always good to aid the body in repairing itself and Jongdae hadn't managed to hunt anything except for an injured human yesterday. "But I think he'll like it better if I clean it and cook it for him first, okay, Bacon?"

As always whenever his name is mentioned, the beast thumps his tail, but he doesn't otherwise react as Jongdae slowly withdraws the hoppit from the bed. It's a nice fat specimen, and Jongdae skins and cleans it with practiced efficiency, setting aside the animal's skull along with the skin. It's a convenient fact that critters come with enough brains to tan their own hide, the enzymes and proteins in the organ working to soften and preserve the leather in combination with patience and hard work on the part of the tanner.

Next, he flenses the meat from the carcass, cuts it into long strips, salts the strips, and hangs them up to dry. The meaty thighs he steams over the boiling rice, and the bones and offal he sets on a plate and offers back to the bulgae, lifting his brows in surprise when the creature doesn't eat it, though he licks saliva from his lips while staring longingly at the carcass.

"You can eat it," Jongdae coaxes. "You caught it, so it's only fair you get to have some."

Bacon thumps his tail and whines, licking his lips and bouncing his gaze between the plate and Jongdae, with the occasional glance at his sleeping master. 

But evidently having a wiggling, whining bulgae on top of him isn't conducive to continuing sleep, because Minseok furrows his brow and shifts beneath his pet.

"What, do you hafta pee, Bake?" he murmurs, attempting to restrain the bulgae with the arm wrapped around it and scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his other hand.

"No, I took him out with me earlier," Jongdae assures him. "Now I'm trying to feed him, but he's being weird."

Minseok freezes at the sound of Jongdae's voice. Arm still covering his eyes, he waits two heartbeats and then says, "Please be the cute guy I dreamed was taking care of me, and not a raider toying with me before eating me alive."

Jongdae snorts. "I don't know about cute, but I promise I'm still only after lightly poisoning you. And not poisoning Bacon at all, so I'm not sure why he's not eating when the drool all over your shirt says he clearly wants to."

Minseok cracks an eye, dark iris rolling to take in the bulgae on his chest and the plate in Jongdae's hand. "Oh. Bacon, diamond crystal—oof!"

The bulgae launches over Minseok's prone form to bolt the remains of the hoppit in three rapid bites, then lick the plate so thoroughly Jongdae is half-tempted to put it right back in the cupboard.

"Fuck," Minseok wheezes, curled protectively around his midsection.

"You okay?"

"Just took a paw to the guts—I'll probably have a hell of a bruise, but it's a nice distraction from how much my leg hurts."

"Ah, well, I have some more poison ready for you that should help with that. And some food, thanks to my and Bake's combined foraging efforts. Probably easier to have him hunt for you if he won't eat without being given the magic words. Was that hard to train him to do?"

"The fucking worst," Minseok grunts, dragging himself into a sitting position with one hand still pressed to his abdomen. "I had to rub horseradish and ginger on meat to get him to finally avoid it, then I had to convince him it wouldn't burn his mouth if I gave him the command first. But I kept at it, because I didn't want him getting sick from scarfing carrion. The fact that he started bringing me hoppits and woodrats and stuff instead of just devouring what he killed was a nice side effect."

"It is rather convenient," Jongdae says, retrieving the bowls of rice, meat, and berries. "But you picked the goofiest password—I never would have guessed it."

"That's sort of the point," Minseok says, accepting the steaming bowl. "I'm paranoid, and I think people will kill him without realizing he's tame. Try to poison him or lure him into a trap or whatever."

"Well, he's the only tame bulgae I've ever seen, so you're probably right to be concerned. How the fuck did you tame him, anyway?"

"I raised him from a tiny pup—he was barely able to eat solid food and I didn't think he'd make it. But I ate his mom—I didn't realize she had pups because her teats weren't really dropped. So I figured I owed him a chance, and, well, baby anything is at least  _ kind of _ cute. It must have been a first litter or something, because he was the only one in the den, but that's just as well since he's a menace. More than one of you would be a nightmare." He directs this last bit at the menace in question, who seems unconcerned and unrepentant.

Jongdae hides his smile behind another bite of food, unable to take the man's faux-hatred nonsense even a little seriously now that he's seen him cuddle his pet while he sleeps. There's obviously a deep bond between the two, and Jongdae is more than a little envious.

After they eat, Jongdae lets Minseok curse at him while he helps him up the crate-made steps and hauls him outside, carrying him piggy-back a safe distance away from the burrow before allowing him to crawl off behind some bushes to answer nature's call. Minseok curses even more when they're back inside the bus and Jongdae wipes away the biofilm over the leg wound, but he's satisfied that it's less inflamed than it was the night before. There's a lot of tissue that needs to granulate in, but if they can keep infection away, Minseok should regain full use of his leg.

"You're gonna have a gnarly scar, though, dude," Jongdae warns his patient as he envelops the limb in the plastic shielding of the ozone machine once again, but Minseok only shrugs.

"Doesn't need to be pretty, just needs to work," he announces. "And I can almost think straight after drinking this morning's cup of poison, so I'm totally on board with doing whatever you tell me until it's healed—oh!" He straightens up as much as he can with his leg immobilized. "Did I have a backpack with me? Did you grab it?"

"I didn't even open it," Jongdae assures him, palms out placatingly. He gestures to the overstuffed military-style canvas rucksack leaning against the wall.

"Well, open it now—I owe you for not leaving me to die, considering my idiot beast led you to me and you could have killed both of us for food and taken my stuff anyway."

"If I'm gonna eat a man, I'd rather he hadn't died from blood poisoning for food-safety reasons, so you can consider it entirely self-serving. But if you feel like you must repay me, I'd rather you teach me something than give me stuff," Jongdae says, but at Minseok's insistence he brings the pack over to the bed so the injured man can rummage through it.

The first thing he does is untie the bedroll from the bag and hold it out to Jongdae. "At least use this," he commands. "You gave up your bed, and while I'm not noble enough to give it back because it's fucking  _ comfortable, _ I do think it's only fair for you to take mine."

Jongdae offers a token protest but his neck and spine force him to leave it at that, since he's not at all excited about another night in the wicker chair, regardless of how comfy it is during the daytime.

"And I have some tinware, so you won't have to wash dishes so often, and I have some dried food to share, so you and Bake won't have to provide for me so much. And there's still some moonshine left—Oh!" Minseok grins up at Jongdae. "I found some nuruk cakes the same place I found the moonshine," he announces. "I don’t know why I bothered grabbing them—it’s not like I’m going to carry around fermenting food on the road when I can just hunt and forage. But you seem to have access to rice, and you're obviously good at building shit, so the nuruk is yours. You could make one of those booze concentrator thingies and make yourself some really strong shit."

Jongdae's brows go up. Liquor is a rare treat indeed, especially as Jongdae tends to hoard any small amount he finds to use as an antiseptic or a solvent or an accelerant, rarely actually drinking the stuff. But Yixing had some that he'd shared with Jongdae one winter night when the insulation of the earth surrounding the bus and the heat generated by the grow-light wasn't enough to keep them from shivering on opposite ends of the burrow. The warmth brought on by the alcohol—and the heat-generating activities that followed—are some of Jongdae's most treasured memories.

"That'd be great," he grins. "I already know your moonshine is quality stuff, because it was strong enough to kill most of the mawang germs in your wound. I should be amputating your leg to save your feverish, hallucinating ass, but I just had to lance and debride a nasty abscess."

Minseok shudders. "I am so fine with not having been awake for that bit," he admits. 

The next things Minseok pulls from his pack are an assortment of long metal spikes, the thickest one stuck through a fist-sized metal cylinder. “And this is what I can teach you—do you know how to spin fiber? Or knit yourself clothes or whatever?”

Jongdae shakes his head. He’d had new-made clothing as a kid in the enclave, but out in the wilds he’s lucky to scavenge clothes that are actually wearable. Most of what he has, he’s stitched himself, from scraps of cloth or hides he’d tanned, with or without the fur. 

At the moment Jongdae’s wearing a loose patchwork hooded tunic over knee-length leather breeches, arms and legs wrapped with rags to absorb sweat and keep the merciless sun off as much skin as possible. Whereas Minseok’s hooded tunic has full-length sleeves, knit loose enough to vent his body heat. Strips of silvery plastic are woven through the fabric over shoulders, chest, arms, hood, and back, evidently to reflect the most direct rays of the sun. His leather trousers are similar to Jongdae’s, but he has a finely-knit stocking covering his uninjured lower leg and similar fingerless gloves over his hands. 

“I'm still fuzzy-headed or I'd start sketching you diagrams now and telling you a list of spinnable shit to look out for while foraging. Keep it up with the slight poisoning, and you’ll be halfway through your first scarf before my leg is fully healed."

"I can't wait," Jongdae says with another big smile, but inside he's wishing he were the type of person who would allow a wound to heal slowly, maybe even delay it, just to spend more time with this beautiful man and his friendly bulgae.

But he isn't, so he continues treating Minseok from the inside with herbs and from the outside with ozone twice a day, leaving him alone with Bacon in the burrow while Jongdae scours ancient buildings for the pipes and sheet metal with which to build a still and scours the wildlands for the plants and animals Minseok lists out for him. It's the sweetest sort of torture to do his best to help the most interesting, attractive person he's met in years get well enough to leave him, but how could he offer Minseok less than his best, especially considering the gifts of knowledge and skill he's gaining in return?

“Where did you learn how to do this?” Jongdae asks, marvelling over the skein of yarn Minseok’s drop-spindle had yielded from the wool of a savaged wildegoat. It had been torn apart by a pack of bulgae, hide completely shredded into something that would have been entirely useless to Jongdae. But Minseok’s clever fingers had stripped the tufts of wool from the unusable skin, had combed it into soft clouds with a pair of rough wire brushes, and had coaxed those clouds to draw out into a thin, even twist that coiled around the metal rod of the spindle.

“My mother,” Minseok answers, pride coloring his voice. “Self-sufficiency was paramount in her eyes. If she needed it, she provided it for herself, and if she couldn’t provide it, she figured out how not to need it. A flighty, mistrustful thing, my mother. I thought we were the only two people in the world until I was more than six years old.”

Jongdae blinks. “What—you never saw anyone else?”

Minseok shakes his head. “Nope. We didn’t need anyone else, and she had a kid to protect. She wasn’t going anywhere near any raiders so they could kill the resource-draining proof of her fertility, then knock her up again with their own get.”

Jongdae shudders. “That was a lonely choice, to raise her kid by herself.”

Minseok tilts his head. “Being alone doesn’t mean someone is lonely. I’ve never craved the company of my own kind. I like being my own man.”

Wearing a tight smile, Jongdae nods, trying to focus on his own attempt to spin fluff into yarn. Despite the fact that his own kind had used him, then betrayed him, there’s still a little part of Jongdae that craves human contact. 

It’s why he’d let Yixing stay with him, getting attached even though he knew he had no hope of keeping the herbalist with him after the first green shoots had pushed up through the snow. And why he’s sitting close and companionable, letting Minseok teach him to spin even though the nuruk cakes would have been more than enough compensation for saving the guy’s life.

Thankfully, the still is progressing better than the spinning, and he’s got a nice batch of sprouted rice fermenting away in a crock. So he'll at least be able to get drunk off his ass after Minseok leaves him lonely once again.

#  ﮮ ᐧረ 🌣

By the end of the week, Jongdae has his own skein of yarn, much more lumpy and uneven than Minseok’s but still deemed adequate to learn to knit with. And Minseok is well enough to hobble around outside with a stout walking stick, not to mention all but stir-crazy from being forced to remain still for so long.

So the fiber is set aside during daylight hours so they can start making short excursions to hunt or forage but mostly to build up Minseok's weakened muscles and improve his fever-stolen stamina. It's pleasant to roam with a companion who's equally happy to walk silently at his side or keep up his end of a conversation. And after Bacon demonstrates his alertness despite the humans' chatter, warning them of a nest of vipers sunning themselves on a rock just up ahead, Jongdae feels relaxed enough to let himself sing sometimes, loving that Minseok loves it, loving that Minseok joins in.

For a guy who claims not to crave human company, he certainly seems to enjoy it. And he seems set on slowly killing the guy who’d saved his life, having Jongdae sit on the floor between his knees in the evenings, wrapping his arms around Jongdae and peering over his shoulder to guide his hands into making tidy knits and purls on the long metal needles.

Again, Jongdae is tempted to be bad at it on purpose so that Minseok’s warm hands will wrap around his own for longer. But since Minseok’s going to leave whether Jongdae’s able to knit by the time he’s healed or not, he figures he may as well learn this skill properly. Then he can keep himself warm after his burrow is again cold and empty.

But all Jongdae’s maudlin enjoyment of his temporary companion is shattered at the end of the second week, when Minseok announces they've been filthy long enough.

"We all need baths," he declares one sunny morning. "And we need to wash the bedding. I sweated and bled on your quilts, and my bedroll was hardly the cleanest when I gave it to you. Besides, I may have broken Bake from eating dead shit, but I despair of ever getting him to resist rolling in it, and he fucking  _ reeks _ after finding that bloated treerat earlier. I don't know about you, but I'm not excited about spending the night in an enclosed space with his skanky ass."

Jongdae wrinkles his nose in agreement. He normally goes a little longer between washings himself, but Minseok is right that there are extenuating circumstances. He's more than happy to haul an overflowing armload of bedding to the creek, carrying washboards and some home-made boar-fat soap in a pack on his back while Minseok limps on ahead, Bacon loping circles around the both of them.

That is, right until they reach the bank of the creek, shaded enough by the surrounding trees to protect bared skin from the harsh rays of the sun. Minseok drops his walking stick in order to pull his tunic up over his head and Jongdae promptly stumbles, barely remaining upright under his awkward load.

_ Sweet mother of invention. _ The guy may have the face of an angel, but he has the body of a fucking  _ god. _

Jongdae manages to stagger the rest of the way to the water's edge, tossing the soiled bedding onto the sandy bank and dropping his pack behind him.

"You okay?" Minseok asks, and Jongdae realizes he's sunk to his ass and has his head between his knees.

He straightens up and assumes a bright smile. "Oh, just peachy!" he chirps. 

It’s a total lie, of course. Jongdae is far from peachy. Not only does he have to unwrap his own marked-up skin in front of someone else—something he’d only ever done either alone or in the dark—but he has to do it in front of  _ that. _ That gorgeous, marble sculpture of a man. With skin marred only by the life he’d lived instead of the sins of others. And who is currently balancing on one leg and attempting to take down his pants.

Jongdae catches Minseok without hesitation when he wobbles, reciting the periodic table of the elements in his head as he definitely does not notice how much firmer Minseok’s body feels beneath his hands now that he can  _ see _ it. 

“Thanks,” Minseok says, flashing him a smile as he braces an arm around Jongdae’s shoulders for balance so he can finish undoing his pants and slide them off his hips.

Jongdae’s eyes are locked on the sky. It’s nice and blue today, a few clouds— 

“If you can help me to the water, I should be good while you undress.”

Rictus grin plastered on his face, Jongdae shuffles toward the water, Minseok shuffle-hopping along beside him. Jongdae closes the eye closest to Minseok completely, because seeing anything bounce as the injured man moves would probably induce some medical-related crisis in Jongdae, too, and then they’d never get to the river and Minseok needs to cover himself quickly before— 

They both breathe a sigh of relief when Minseok’s waded out into the quiet pool far enough to support most of his weight (and also leave only a bit of short dark hair exposed above the rippled surface of the water, not that Jongdae was looking).

“Your pants,” Minseok frowns.

“My what?” Jongdae may be able to assemble complicated equipment from scrap wire and repurposed circuit boards, but he can’t carry on a conversation with a gorgeous, naked man.

“The leather is soaked now. You’ll have to re-soften it.”

“Oh.” Jongdae looks down at himself, glad that the chilly water has resolved any unauthorized activity occurring below his own waist. “It’s fine. They need washing, anyways. I’ll just, er. Go get the bedding.”

Maybe Jongdae can just keep his own clothing on, rubbing soap over fabric and leather while it’s still on his body or— 

“I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

Jongdae lifts his gaze to Minseok’s face, brow furrowed. Minseok’s cheeks are noticeably pinkish despite the shade sheltering the bathing pool.

“I mean, it’s fine if you’re not interested—I know not everyone’s, er, flexible. The last thing I want is to make things awkward when you’ve been so accommodating already. But it’s rare enough for me to encounter anyone, much less someone not looking for a fight. So might as well…” Minseok shrugs. 

Head tilted, Jongdae blinks. “Might as well what?”

“Help each other out?” Minseok makes a vague gesture in the direction of his groin and Jongdae’s. “We don’t have to go all the way, of course, but someone else’s hand might be nice for a change.”

Jongdae blinks. “Uh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. You don’t have to offer—I mean, I’m happy to have you as long as you need to stay, honestly, I’m grateful for the nuruk and you teaching me to spin and—”

Minseok laughs, tilting that pointed chin toward the sky and exposing the edible length of his neck. “Dae. This isn’t obligation. It’s recreation. Unless you’d rather not?”

“I… would rather… yes,” Jongdae manages.

Minseok’s smile turns into a smirk. He reaches one of those nicely-muscled arms out but Jongdae dodges, panic welling in his throat.

“I’m still gross. Dirty. I need to wash. And Bacon—and the bedding. Clothes. But mostly myself—I’ll just get the soap…”

Minseok laughs again. “Of course. I’ll help you. Especially with Bake—he only really holds still when he’s sleeping, and even then he tries to run and kicks.”

Jongdae smiles, heart rate returning to something resembling normal. “I did sort of notice that.”

It’s pleasant to scrub down the wiggly bulgae with Minseok. Bacon keeps trying to lick their faces as they bend over him, evidently aiming to stick his slimy dog tongue into one or more human mouths. There’s a lot of shouting and sputtering but eventually the bulgae is clean.

Minseok throws sticks into the water for Bacon to fetch, giving the pair of humans time to scrub the bedding, their clothing, and themselves. Long-sleeved tunic in hand, Jongdae heads off into deeper water before he strips and unwinds the rags wrapped around his forearms and lower legs. He washes himself beneath the water, only his head above the surface, throwing bashful grins in response to Minseok’s hoots. 

He is very much looking forward to getting naked with the too-attractive man, but he feels way too exposed out here. Better to strip down in the cozy darkness of his burrow rather than out in the open beneath the sun.

So he smirks at Minseok’s disappointed noises when he emerges from the water draped in the soaked tunic, sleeves covering most of his hands. He helps the injured man over to the large rocks he uses as washboards, both of them tackling the bedding and the rest of the laundry.

Sitting there together, chatting idly as they work side by side, somehow seems more intimate than the sweaty rubbing of bodies could ever be. Minseok makes the most animated facial expressions in response to anything Jongdae says, and it’s endearing as hell to watch him scowl exaggeratedly at Bacon whenever the bulgae brings back the stick, whiplike tail flinging water at them as he wags it enthusiastically.

Jongdae can bring himself off whenever he desires. But this easy companionship is impossible to duplicate alone. Maybe Jongdae should try to find a bulgae pup of his own. Name it Company or something equally ridiculous. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed having another living being in his space for the past several years, and this current reprieve will be all too temporary.

#  ﮮ ᐧረ 🌣

It takes them all morning to get the laundry scrubbed and wrung out and hung from tree limbs to dry beneath the baking power of the sun. The afternoon is spent foraging nearby, unwilling to roam out of sight of their belongings in case predators, two- or four-legged, think it might be fun to pull the laundry down and make off with it.

Bacon catches a nice fat woodrat, dispatching it cleanly with a single vicious shake. Then he trots over to his master, tail raised high and waving proudly, almost prancing up to Minseok with his prize.

Minseok fusses over his pet in a cutesy, squeaky little voice that has Bacon pirouetting beneath his master’s petting and attention. It’s entirely adorable, and Jongdae can’t help smiling at the tightly-bonded pair like a total moron. He pats Bacon’s shoulder when the bulgae bounces over to get his praises, too, chuckling softly at the dancing creature.

Dinner secured, Minseok suggests they put away the laundry and then roast the meat over a proper fire rather than the electric griddle. They stop by the greenhouse on the way back to the sandy bank of the creek, gathering a few herbs with which to season their meal.

“I can’t believe nobody’s trashed this place yet,” Minseok comments, eyes on the charcoal portrait of mother and child. 

“To be honest, me, either,” Jongdae laughs. “I have backup seeds and tubers in the burrow for when it inevitably happens, but it’s nice that it’s lasted so long. Maybe people have finally figured out that it’s nicer to work together than face the world alone all the time.”

Minseok only hums, fingering various leaves and stems until Jongdae’s collected what they need.

He’s a little pensive as they roast the meat, responding to Jongdae’s attempts at conversation with vague, brief comments until Jongdae finally gives up. They eat without talking, the only sounds those of smacking lips and Bacon crunching the bones they toss to him.

Unsure what had caused the deflation of Minseok’s mood, Jongdae holds back his chatter on the way back to the burrow, remaining silent as they prepare for bed. He settles down on the bedroll only to jump when Minseok’s voice tiptoes softly from the mattress.

“Jongdae.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you still wanna…?” Minseok lets the question trail off into the darkness between them.

Jongdae’s cock twitches at the very thought.

“Yeah. That’d be… Yeah.”

Minseok’s chuckle floats up like bubbles through fermenting rice wash. “Well, come here, then—no, not  _ you, _ you go lie down on the bedroll. Yes,  _ bedroll— _ go lie down.”

As Jongdae vacates the borrowed bedding, Bacon paws at it, scrunching it into an adequate nest before circling and lying down with a deep huff.

“So dramatic,” Minseok chides, lifting the edge of the blanket for Jongdae to slide beneath.

“I can’t blame him,” Jongdae says, relieved that his voice comes out relatively normal despite the strong arms pulling him close. “This is obviously the best place to be.”

“He can come back when we’re done,” Minseok dismisses, and then his mouth is on Jongdae’s throat.

Jongdae sucks in a breath, arching closer to Minseok and gliding his palms over that well-built torso.

“Fuck, it feels so good to have someone’s hands on me,” Minseok moans as he undoes the drawstring of Jongdae’s sleep pants with impatient fingers. “How do you want it, Dae? Just hands? Mouths? Do you want me inside you? Or would you rather be inside me?”

“Any of it,” Jongdae pants. “All of it.” He keens as Minseok’s fingers slip beneath the fabric to close around his already half-hard cock. “Fuck, it’s been so long—I’m never gonna last.”

Minseok chuckles. “Me, either. Let’s consider this a warm-up round, hmm?”

“Please,” Jongdae laughs, reaching for the growing arousal pressed against his thigh. 

Evidently more confident about tonight’s activities than Jongdae, Minseok had apparently stripped down before inviting Jongdae into bed, leaving that glorious body bare for Jongdae’s hands to explore. So explore Jongdae does as Minseok sucks blossoms onto his neck. He encircles Minseok’s thick cock with one hand, caressing the taut lines of his back, ass, and thigh with the other.

Minseok rolls against him and Jongdae bucks up into Minseok’s fist. It feels amazing to have someone else’s skin over and around him, beneath his palm and hot within the circle of his fingers. So amazing that it takes mere minutes of this for him to come apart beneath Minseok. And Minseok answers his moan with a sigh, emptying into Jongdae’s fist.

He’s laughing as he comes down from his high. “You’re so loud—must be nice to enjoy a secure shelter every night.” 

Jongdae laughs as he reaches for soft rags to clean themselves with, handing one to Minseok. “It’s not at all an exciting life, but I like to think it’s a reasonably safe one.”

“Wandering is sometimes  _ too _ exciting,” Minseok grumbles, disentangling his injured leg from Jongdae’s. “But it’s all I know—the idea of staying in one place all the time is just… strange to me. I mean, if you have more than one small kid, it makes sense, I guess. But why is a healthy, young guy like you living in a hole in the ground instead of conquering the roads?”

Jongdae shrugs, knowing Minseok can feel his shoulders move. “I don’t want to conquer anything, I guess.”

“Then why not join up with a settlement if you’d rather stay in one place? Or you’re super smart—an enclave would definitely find your skills useful enough to justify feeding and sheltering you.”

Minseok can’t see Jongdae’s pursed lips, but that doesn’t stop him from trapping them between his teeth for a moment.

“I was born in an enclave, actually.” 

There’s no reason to hide the truth from the guy—Minseok will be fully mobile in another few weeks, and then he’ll leave. If it’s awkward for that long, so be it—maybe it’ll be easier for Jongdae not to get attached to his temporary guest.

“Oh?” 

Minseok shifts, and when Jongdae takes the soiled rag from him to toss via muscle memory into the hamper, Minseok uses his now-empty hand to wrap around Jongdae’s torso, tugging him closer.

“So why’d you leave your Jericho for this?” He must feel Jongdae tense a bit, because he hastens to add, “Not that this isn’t quite the cozy den. But still. It’s gotta be a far cry from what you’re used to. Unless your parents left when you were a kid and actually took you with them?”

“No, they stayed ‘til I was five, confident I’d be well provided-for since I was a precocious little thing, clever with my hands. They had itchy feet like you, so as soon as they knew I’d be alright without them they took off.”

They’d left him with a name—Jongdae, out of Sooyoung by Jonghyun, along with the names of his parents’ parents so that if he went to start a family, he didn’t inadvertently do so with a close relative. And his mother had given him the stout club that was an heirloom from her own father, and then they’d left, hand in hand, not looking back.

“That’s harsh, to be left behind like that. I’d say it was harsher to be born on the road, but at least my mom took me with her. She told me she walked through most of her labor, then when I was out she just tied me to her breast and kept walking. And I’ve been walking, too, ever since I could keep up. Being lame has been agony—I really don’t think I know how to be still.” 

“You’re healing well, though,” Jongdae says, running a hand from biceps to shoulder blade to spine as if the caress of Minseok’s skin would somehow soothe his own soul. “You’ll be walking down the road again soon.”

“Won’t be soon enough,” Minseok declares. “But what about you? If you followed in your folks’ steps and left to follow the roads, what made you settle down again?”

“I didn’t leave willingly,” Jongdae says, deciding to just go for broke. It’s easier to confess when he can’t see the beautiful man beside him, yet it helps to feel the sturdiness of Minseok’s arm around him. “They sent me off. As the Pharmakos.”

“The what?”

Jongdae snorts. “You really haven’t spent any time near an enclave, have you.”

“Not if I can help it. Places give me claustrophobia just looking at them.”

“Yet you’re willing to sleep in a buried tin can.”

Minseok’s shrug makes all the warm muscles in his arm flex enticingly. “I honestly don’t mind it, oddly enough. I really thought I’d hate it. Maybe it’s the company?”

He tugs Jongdae closer, rolling them both and settling onto his back. “I don’t think my leg’s gonna stand up— ha!—to a lot of thrusting, so you can either fuck me or ride me for round two.”

Jongdae sets his teeth against the chest beneath him. Minseok’s hiss goes straight to his cock.

“If you’re really fine with it, I’d like to fuck you. But you can absolutely have me next time.”

“Deal.” 

There’s a lot of sucking and nibbling after that, always below the face. They’re just horny, not bonded in any way. It’s an act of convenience, physical relief, just helping each other out. Jongdae missed this, the slide of skin on skin, the slickness of spit drying on his body, the slip of aloe through his fingers.

“Damn, it even smells nice,” Minseok laughs as he bends his injured leg to his chest, holding it out of the way as Jongdae opens him up.

“Yeah, I put lavender in it. Because it’s just me using it, and often because I can’t sleep. It’s relaxing.”

Minseok gasps as Jongdae crooks his fingers inside him, then chuckles. “Oh yeah. I’m totally relaxed right now.”

“You will be,” Jongdae promises. “Ready to be knocked out?”

“Bring it,” Minseok invites.

Guiding himself by feel, Jongdae lines up and pushes in.

Minseok hisses.

A moment later he pats Jongdae’s shoulder, and Jongdae begins to move.

Minseok huffs and sighs and pants until Jongdae cants his hips, pulling Minseok’s ass up to meet his thrusts. And when he attains the proper angle, Minseok shouts.

It’s immediately answered by Bacon’s low growl, then the jingle of his collar as he rushes to his master’s side.

Jongdae freezes.

But Minseok just clicks his tongue, pulling Jongdae’s head against his chest with one hand and stiff-arming his pet with the other.

“Oh, so  _ now _ you’re a guard dog? Worthless piece of meat—go back and lie down. Go on—shoo!”

Bacon whimpers.

“I’m fine, we like Dae, he’s not hurting me. The opposite, actually, so take your cock-blocking ass back to the bedroll. Yes,  _ bedroll _ . Go!”

The jingling retreats, becomes irregular, and subsides with another beleaguered huff.

“Sorry,” Minseok murmurs, unwrapping the protective hand from the back of Jongdae’s head.

Jongdae huffs, too, but his is more amused despite having gone rather soft inside Minseok. “I mean, everyone has to die sometime, I guess. I couldn’t possibly pick better last moments.”

Minseok chuckles beneath him. “If I’m not allowed to die in your bus, you aren’t, either. At least not until you finish fucking me.”

“I’m afraid I need a little more encouragement than that.”

Humming his sympathy, Minseok runs his hands over Jongdae’s body, making soft little noises surely meant to arouse. Jongdae is emboldened to encourage himself, pushing up on one arm to run the other hand over the chiseled planes of Minseok’s chest. Minseok is gorgeous even in the dark and his moans and sighs at Jongdae’s touch are easily enough to renew the disrupted excitement. 

“Move?” Minseok asks.

Jongdae agrees with a moan, thrusting into the sweet heat surrounding him. “You feel so good,” Jongdae murmurs. 

“Touch me,” Minseok requests in response.

Jongdae obliges, wrapping his free hand around Minseok’s cock and enjoying the resulting moan. He strokes in time with his thrusts, loving the way Minseok’s body tightens around him, the way his back arches, the way he groans deep and shuddery as he spills over Jongdae’s fist.

Pulling out, Jongdae sits back on his heels to stroke himself off, the echo of Minseok’s pleasure in his head bringing him to a rapid climax.

“Fuck, that was good,” Minseok pants beneath him.

Humming his agreement, Jongdae reaches for another cloth and cleans himself off, wiping Minseok’s abdomen down as best he can in the dark while Minseok giggles. Then he fumbles with his clothes, righting his pants and making to slide from the bed.

“You don’t wanna stay?” Minseok mumbles through a yawn. “Gotta be more comfy. I’ve healed enough that I don’t mind sharing.”

“Ah, I don’t wanna take Bake’s spot,” Jongdae demurs. 

“There’s room for all of us,” Minseok dismisses, whistling for his pet.

Jongdae’s all but trampled into the matress by knobby bulgae paws, echoing Minseok’s  _ oof _ as Bacon gets settled half on top of his master. He sniffs curiously at them, warm breath puffing over them in the dark.

“Don’t worry about the smell,” Minseok chuckles. “Just sleep, nosy beast.”

With one last snort, Bacon settles. A moment later, Minseok’s voice drifts through the dark.

“G’night, Dae. And, well. Thanks.”

Jongdae huffs. “I enjoyed it as much as you did—no need to thank me, And g’night… Seok.” 

Minseok hums at the nickname but doesn’t object. Sated and back in his own comfortable bed, it takes mere seconds for Jongdae to drift off.

#  ﮮ ᐧረ 🌣

The next week passes in sweet agony, fucking or being fucked against whatever nearby surface accomodates Minseok’s leg. They even fuck in the middle of scavenging, Bacon now content to protect them rather than attack once he can see what they’re doing to create such noises.

Evidently content with having his hands on Jongdae in other ways, Minseok lets him knit rows on what’s supposedly a scarf all by himself, having to notice and correct his own mistakes on each row before Minseok authorizes him to continue. It’s far from tidy and even like Minseok’s clothing, but he at least manages to end up with the same number of stitches at the end of the row as he had at the beginning, something Minseok assures him is praiseworthy and important.

And the first batch of rice wash is ready to be distilled. Jongdae could easily rig an electric heat source for the still he’d painstakingly constructed, but Minseok likes having an open fire under the stars. So they haul all the pieces out to the sandy bank of the river, Minseok proving his strength and balance are returning by hauling twice as much as Jongdae while flashing him a cheeky wink.

When the batch is done, they decide it’s only prudent to test their work. But Jongdae’s not willing to be stupid as well as drunk, so he corrals Minseok and the pieces of the still back into the burrow before he agrees to imbibe.

Minseok proves to be a very chatty drunk, telling Jongdae everything he can remember (and probably some things he makes up) about his wanderings. Jongdae is coaxed into telling a few stories of his own more dramatic brushes with death when he’d first been out on his own, and they take turns laughing hysterically at how neither of them are actually dead yet.

Jongdae’s still grinning after Minseok’s last tale of being stuck up a tree for three days while a horangi prowled below, only induced to leave by a thunderstorm Minseok had been afraid would either rip him out of the tree or fry him with lightning. But Minseok’s self-effacing laughter suddenly dies away in favor of an oddly-toned statement.

“I have scars, too, you know.”

Jongdae looks up from where he’s adjusting the wrappings over his hands. 

“And I’m about to have another huge scar—you know what my leg looks like.”

Jongdae blinks slowly at Minseok, who’s chewing on his own lower lip.

“So, you know. Whatever farming accident has you covering up in front of me all the time, well. I don’t care if your body isn’t perfect.”

Understanding dawns. “Oh. Um. I wasn’t in a farming accident. They made me the  _ Pharmakos _ —the sacrifice. The one that’s driven out to atone for the hubris of humankind.”

“The what?”

Jongdae smiles. “The enclaves don’t want The War or anything like it to happen ever again. So while they want communities rather than wandering and raiding, they don’t want cities or true, nationwide civilization. They need science and tech to survive well, but they don’t want anyone to ever be  _ too _ good at it.”

“But you’re a genius.”

Cheeks heating at the compliment—or maybe just the booze—Jongdae nods. “So they tattooed my aptitude all over me. While they were doing that, everyone in the enclave came to kneel at my side and confess all their pride and selfishness and greed. Admit to every time they had put the individual before the group. And then they kicked me out, nude, with no supplies, skin marked so that no other enclave would take me in, so that raiders would know I was soft and weak, so that wanderers would know not to aid me.”

Minseok frowns. “That’s fucking  _ twisted.” _

He smiles over at a confused-looking Minseok. “Yep. Especially because they declared me Pharmakos right after I’d finished fully wiring the entire enclave for safe, reliable electricity.”

“Fucking mawang bait. Everyone’s just out to use other people. Making you take the blame or whatever doesn’t make them any better than raiders—at least raiders don’t pretend they’re not out to exploit everyone they come across.”

“Yeah. And I didn’t want to die for everyone else’s sins when my only mistake was learning everything they taught me. So I used that knowledge to survive instead.”

“Good. Those carrionfuckers don’t deserve your genius if they’re just gonna kick you out for being smart. This is why it’s better to go your own way.”

Jongdae chuckles at Minseok’s indignation. “I sort of get it. I mean, they need to set an example once a generation or so, to make sure no one gets any ideas more ambitious than safety and survival. Their existence depends on everyone accepting their assigned role. And I guess I’m glad it was me instead of someone who really would have died out here on their own.”

Minseok makes a noise of disgust through his nose as he swallows another mouthful of moonshine. “I still say fuck them. Everyone should get to decide their own role—they’re not the boss of you.”

“Not anymore,” Jongdae asserts, downing the last of his own moonshine. “So if I wanna live, I’m gonna live.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re alive. I mean, you’re much more fun to fuck this way.” Minseok’s voice drops low and suggestive.

Jongdae laughs. “I guess I am. For the fourth time today.” He lets Minseok take hold of him, tug him close, lip at his neck. 

“I don’t care if you’re tattooed. I mean, it’s your body—you don’t have to show me if you don’t want to. But, well. You feel really sexy, Dae. I bet you look really sexy, too.”

It’s hard to mind much of anything with Minseok’s mouth on his skin like that.

“You can see me,” he says, twining his fingers into Minseok’s silky hair. “Fuck, Seok. I love how insatiable you are.”

Minseok chuckles. “Hey, I’m gonna get it while the getting’s good,” he shrugs, tugging at Jongdae’s tunic.

Jongdae lets his clothing be removed, libido dampened a bit by the reminder that this bliss is all too temporary. He expects it to be dampened further by the pitying look in Minseok’s eyes when he sees the litany of sins inked across his skin, but the lamplight only reveals Minseok’s hooded eyes, his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before he’s quirking half a smile at Jongdae.

“Would it be terrible of me to find this incredibly hot?”

Jongdae blinks. “Uh. How can you find a list of an enclave’s crimes hot?”

Minseok shrugs. “I can’t read it. So to me, it’s just pretty patterns.” He traces one of the “pretty patterns” with a fingertip. It makes Jongdae feel like he’s drunk much more than he has.

“Oh,” he manages as Minseok’s fingers move on to the next condemning word. “Uh. I could teach you. It’s not that difficult.”

“Nah. I don’t need it. The horangi aren’t leaving warnings outside their territory, and I stay well away from any written signs I do see. Words mean people, and I generally have no use for people.”

Before Jongdae’s chest can sting at the reminder that he’s useless to someone so self-sufficient, Minseok’s big eyes have him pinned, all but glowing in the lamplight.

_ “Most _ people,” he clarifies, running both hands over Jongdae’s inked shoulders. “You’re not so bad, and you did save my ass. And if I could read, then letting me see your skin would bother you, I think. This way, I genuinely find every bit of you beautiful. And that’s much more fun for both of us, isn’t it?”

Jongdae has consumed too much moonshine to come up with any verbal response to that. So he uses his mouth for a different kind of answer, writing a litany of lust all over Minseok’s unblemished skin. 

#  ﮮ ᐧረ 🌣

“Very nice,” Minseok praises a week later, eyeing the bind-off of Jongdae’s completed scarf. “Your last two dozen rows are basically perfect. Isn’t it nice to see where you started and how much you improved?”

He holds the beginning of the scarf up near the end, letting Jongdae nod at how his stitches became much more even and uniform. 

“But even the imperfect bit is still useful. Something like this is good for a muffler, or to jam into cracks in a wall, use for a sling, a belt, harness—it’s pretty strong. And if you want to make something a certain size or shape, you knit a square just like this with whatever yarn and needles you think you’ll use. Then it’s just a matter of math, and you’re good at that. Like, a tunic is really just three tubes, right?”

Jongdae nods.

“So, you can count how many stitches it takes to go around your arm, in the middle between thick and thin. Because it’ll stretch, so you don’t have to make it perfectly exact. And then knit a strip with that many stitches, for as long as your arm is—just hold it up. You already sew your own clothes—you can imagine the rest, right?” 

Jongdae nods again.

“You can use those increasing and decreasing stitches to make it follow a specific shape better, like if you’re making a hat or a sock—just hold it up as you go along, pinch the seam together, you get the idea. And you use that ribbing on the edges so it will lay flat and keep its shape.”

Another nod. “Thank you, Minseok. Really—this is such a useful skill.”

“Well, having both legs in working order is useful to me. And you should let me take this scarf off your hands when I leave.”

Jongdae blinks, heart squeezing. “You… really want to take it with you? Like, to remember me by?”

“Nah, I just haven’t done any of my own knitting while I was teaching you, and it’s annoying not to have anything to show for four weeks of sitting on my ass. Maybe Bake would like it for a tug rope or something.” 

Minseok flicks the scarf over Bacon, who’s sprawled over the pair of legs in question, evidently perfectly pain-free even if one’s a bit less muscled than the other and defaced with a scar still deep pink and shiny. The bulgae lunges for it, but Jongdae doesn’t miss how Minseok yanks the scarf out of reach and tucks it safely under an arm. He ruffles Bacon’s mottled ears with his other hand, busting out the cutesy voice he only uses with his pet.

“What do you think—is it time to go, Bake?”

The bulgae thumps his tail.

“Is it time to get back on the road? Go even further?”

Bacon barks once, excited tongue lolling as he rolls onto his back between Minseok’s knees.

“Yeah, I think so, too. Another day to get all packed up, nail Dae’s tight little ass to a few more trees…”

“What about  _ your _ ass?” Jongdae objects, mostly to avoid saying embarassing things like  _ please stay _ or  _ I’ll fucking miss you, and for more than your ability to pound my prostate into goo. _

_ “My _ ass needs to be ready to march,” Minseok laughs. “So you can’t be nailing it anywhere—you have to fuck it nice and gentle.”

“I don’t get nice and gentle in return?”

“You don’t even  _ want _ nice and gentle,” Minseok dismisses, eyes sparkling.

Jongdae’s eyes are sparkling, too, but mostly because there’s suddenly more water in them than there should be. 

“I don’t want nice and gentle,” he agrees, neglecting to mention that it would be twelve times harder to say goodbye to Minseok if he demonstrated any amount of softness to Jongdae aside from basic courtesy. Having Minseok make tender love to him and then walk away would be as painful as a mawang bite, and Jongdae refuses to subject himself to that. He wants no tenderness, no kissing, no murmured sweetness in his ear. He wants to be bent over a fallen log and fucked hard enough to feel it for days. A nice bruised prostate to remember Minseok by.

It’ll perfectly match his bruised heart. 

#  ﮮ ᐧረ 🌣

For a moment, Jongdae thinks he’s woken up too late. That Minseok has left without even saying goodbye. But the hatch of the bus is still open, so Jongdae throws off the covers and bolts up the makeshift bulgae-stairway, shoving his head through the opening half-expecting to be brained for not checking for predators first.

But the only beasts prowling outside his burrow are an excited bulgae and a rather pensive-looking Minseok, tightening the straps of his pack only to loosen them again.

“Seok,” Jongdae says, voice breaking a little. 

“Dae,” Minseok says, dragging his eyes up to regard Jongdae with a surprisingly-watery gaze. “I was just about to wake you.”

“To say goodbye?” 

Minseok nods.

"You could stay, you know," Jongdae blurts. "There's plenty of food around here, and I really enjoy your company, and I don't just mean in bed. I like Bake, too—It'd be way too quiet and drool-free in my burrow without him around."

Minseok's lips twitch into a crooked smile for a second, just long enough to kindle hope in Jongdae's chest. But then Minseok drops his head, kicking at a clump of grass with his scarred leg.

"I've never been one to settle anywhere for long, Dae," Minseok says softly, unable to look him in the eye. "I've spent my whole life on the move, constantly chasing the sun. It’s all I know how to do."

Jongdae can feel his heart shatter, but he just nods. "I understand," he says, managing to keep his voice steady and neutral.

"I don't think you do, Dae. I didn't, either, not until this morning, when I woke up sandwiched between you and Bake, and climbed out of bed really quietly to finish packing without waking you. But when I opened the hatch for a little light, the morning sun shone right on your face, and I couldn't stop staring at you. It was like you were glowing, a beacon to lure me back into that bed between the two best cuddlers in the world."

Jongdae's not sure why Minseok is dragging this out. All he wants is to crawl back into his burrow to sniff his Minseok-scented bedding like a creep and probably cry into it a little bit, but he can't because Minseok is stepping into his space, reaching for him, trapping him with eyes and arms.

"That's when I realized I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life. This past month has been like a dream, Dae. I thought staying put would be stifling, but living with you has been anything but dull. I don't need to keep chasing the sun, because my otherwise-useless fire-dog has already fetched it down for me."

Jongdae blinks at the man in his arms before a smile threatens to break over his face. "Then I fucking love that useless fire-dog," he murmurs, hoping to fuck that Minseok is saying what Jongdae thinks he is. 

"What about his master, the poor frozen lord of the underworld?" Minseok asks, leaning closer, his mouth a fingerbreadth away from Jongdae's lips.

"I fucking love him, too," Jongdae admits. "Stay, and I'll do my very best to light up your world."

"You already do, Dae," Minseok says, and Jongdae can feel him smile against his lips before claiming them with a triumphant kiss. "Plus Bake's really attached to you, so there's no way I could convince him to put the sun back where he found it."

"Just Bake?" Jongdae smirks, bracing his abs against the jab he knows is coming.

Minseok does deliver the jab, but it's gentle, along with his voice. "Eh. I could do worse."

He leans in to resume their kiss, but Jongdae pulls back, laughing. 

"Oh, no," he chides. "You're not getting off the hook after my confession."

"Some confession," Minseok snorts. "I gave you a bunch of poetic shit about the sun and you give me profanity in return."

"That  _ was  _ surprisingly romantic, given the source," Jongdae allows. "But you're still gonna confess properly."

"Make me," Minseok smirks.

So Jongdae does.

It takes some tickling and some fucking, but Minseok finally returns Jongdae's confession—profanity and all—when he's lying sweaty and sated against him, fingers laced in his hair, lips pressed against his shoulder. But he immediately ruins it by claiming he was talking to Bacon, the bulgae having joined them on the mattress once the humans had stopped being noisy and thrashing around. 

More tickling ensues, Bacon barking playfully at the wrestling humans before darting in to steal Jongdae's abandoned sleep shorts. Then, much to the amusement of the not-so-frozen lord of the underworld, the sun chases after the fire-dog for a change.

#  ﮮ ᐧረ 🌣


End file.
